


Marble and Roses

by SHeRLY MiNT BUNnY (madamboast_alot)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred F. Jones - Freeform, Angst, Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, Axis Powers Hetalia - Freeform, Death, Flowers, Funeral, Hetalia, Sad, aph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamboast_alot/pseuds/SHeRLY%20MiNT%20BUNnY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t go dressed like that! It’s a formal event! God, you’re such a moron!” The emerald eye man remarked “I was bloody joking when I said I’d pick your clothes out for you! You’re a grown man! You’re 19 years old, and here I am, still picking out your clothes” </p><p>You can't wear kakis and a t-shirt to a funeral <br/>Rated T for cursing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marble and Roses

Pure anger flashed through his eyes, turning them from veridon, to a deep, mossy green. How was he supposed to watch over him, if he couldn’t even get the oaf out of bed?  
“Alfred!” He yelled, trying one more time to wake the other from his slumber. “Your alarm went off 20 minutes ago! Now you’re going to be late because you decided that it would be a great bloody idea to chuck it across the room and have it shatter into billions of pieces.” He hissed, clenching his fists at his sides. “Just adding to the unholy pigsty you happen to live in now” was muttered after.  
As if on cue, a figure began wriggling under the mass of unkempt sheets. Slowly, as if he were a butterfly emerging from a cocoon of blankets, cluttered pillows, and assorted trash that didn’t make it to the floor, Alfred gathered the covers in his arms, and pulled them from his face.  
“You idiot” The other scoffed, and crossed his arms, as Alfred made his presence known to the world. He slowly arose from his slumber, a yawn stretching across his features, contorting them to its will. His hair seemed to be the definition of bed head. Dirty blond strands flew every which way, tangling with one another. With a groan, he pushed himself in to a sitting position, and tried to rub the sleep of his eyes. He scanned the room for a moment, before realizing that putting his glasses would help his groggy vision. He fumbled around, nearly blindly until his hands rested on the cool metal of his square rims. After they were securely on the bridge of his nose, he took to scanning the room once more.  
“Finally you’re up,” the other said, a sarcastic, antagonizing tone in his voice. “I’m guessing you want me to dress you too huh?” He didn’t receive a response from the blonde young, as he pulled himself to standing, and trudged through the mess of junk that cluttered his floors. With sleep heavy limbs, Alfred made his way to his closet, and threw the first two objects of clothing on to his unmade bed. A pair of khaki shorts and an oddly colored shirt were tossed unceremoniously on to the sheets before he stumbled into the bathroom  
“You can’t go dressed like that! It’s a formal event! God, you’re such a moron!” The emerald eye man remarked “I was bloody joking when I said I’d pick your clothes out for you! You’re a grown man! You’re 19 years old, and here I am, still picking out your clothes” Hastily, he switched out the shorts for long slacks, and replaced the oddly colored shirt with a nice, forest green button up, and laying out his suit jacket and tie neatly next to it , while Alfred busied himself in the bathroom.  
With the sleep gone from his eyes, his bladder now empty, his breath now minty fresh instead of the death breath he awoke with, and his hair was (almost) neatly tamed into place (besides that one piece of hair which seemed to defy gravity and stick straight into the air), he tracked back into the black hole of a room. He dodged lumps of unclean clothes, scattered junk food trash, and all the odds and ends that happened to make it into his room for one reason or another, like the wrench that propped up the end of a clutter of randomly assembled Legos, or Arthur’s ties, which hung, still tied, on the ceiling fan blade.  
The end of the tie brushed over Alfred’s sandy blonde hair as he danced his way across the room. He turned his gaze to the forest green tie. A sly grin danced across his cheeks, as he remembered how it came to rest on his fan. A long night filled with Monopoly, truth or dare, and drunkenly drawing mustaches on the people who passed out first.  
He brought his hand to meet the sleek fabric, but as soon as his fingers grazed the silk tie, his grin fell into what look like a small, sad smile, riddled with grief.  
“I’ve been looking for that damn tie for ages! Why the hell did you have it?” the emerald eyed man behind him cried. “I still want it back!”  
“Yeah, I really should return this,” Alfred said airlessly, as if he really didn’t want to, nor planned on following through with that statement. He continued on to his bed, leaving the tie to hang in its resting place. Swiftly, he threw off his wrinkled pale blue night shirt and his captain America bottoms, and hastily threw on the clothes that Arthur had replaced and laid out neatly, neglecting to put the tieon, leaving his top button undone. “Do you even know the meaning of presentable?” Arthur scoffed.  
Once he was finished, he gracefully pranced over the debris in his room, and headed out of the room again, but not before plucking down the tie, slipping it around his collar and fastening the buttons.  
“I guess that works,” Arthur snarled as he followed behind, careful not to step on anything beneath him. He tip toed around the scattered items. “One more fast food container and you'll be able to quantify this room as a fucking black hole,” he scoffed, only to be promptly ignored.  
Alfred trudged over to the garnet counter tops, resting his hands on the cool stone before reaching up and picking a bowl down from the cupboard above him. Mindlessly, he threw together a breakfast- if you can even call it that- of whatever open bottle of 2 liter soda was stashed in the fridge, and flakes of multicolored cereal, drowned in milk. He cleared himself a space at his cluttered table by stacking the unfinished paper work on top of each other, pushing odds and ends off the edge and onto and unused chair. He plopped himself down in to a seat, setting bowl his bowl of cereal and bottle of soda in front of him, and began to chow down. Milk sloshed out of the bowl and pooled on the table beside him.  
“You’re such a pig,” Arthur said, slipping into the empty seat across from him “Do you even know what time it is?” he questioned, passing a hand through his unkempt, dirty blond locks that framed his pale face. Arthur sat his elbow on the wood of the table, resting his chin in the palm of his age calloused hand. “They are already worried about you. Don’t make it worse by being late” he added, his green eyes trying to lock gazes with Alfred’s, but failed as Alfred kept his eyes on the bowl of soggy cereal in front of him.  
“I’ll just make coffee then,” Arthur sighed, as he rose and began to gather the supplies needed for coffee.  
Alfred kept his monotonous pace as he finished his breakfast, and took a final swig of the pop before standing himself, leaving his dishes to sit in the place on the table for later pick up. And by later, it was most likely Arthur was going to have to pick them up.  
Alfred made his way to the front room, and mentally debated with himself if he should turn on the T.V. while he finished up the last part of his morning route, or just grab his shoes, wallet, keys, and cell and head o

It was a good thing Arthur had hid the remotes, otherwise SpongeBob would make Alfred close to an hour and a half late this time.

Alfred retrieved his shoes from the entryway, and sat himself on the carpet as he pulled them on. He took his time, making sure the rabbit went through the hole on the tree twice, so they wouldn’t become untied before standing himself up.  
“ Keys,” he muttered to himself, trying to figure out where they were.  
“ Book shelf,” Arthur reminded, straightening his tie, and pulling on his own jacket, a thermos of coffee in his hands.  
“ Book shelf,” Alfred told himself, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
“Don’t forget this,” Arthur said, placing the thermos next to the keys on the dusty, cluttered book shelf, filled with read books and miscellaneous gaming supplies. “Or your wallet and phone.”  
Alfred pocketed the keys before taking the thermos.  
“Oh coffee,” he mumbled, taking a sip, not caring where it came from at the moment. After letting the liquid slide down his throat, sending a well needed wakening jolt of caffeine through his body, he wandered over to the table once more, scrounging around for the items he needed. Quickly he found them, and shoved his wallet into his breast pocket along with his keys, and slid a thumb across the screen of his phone to unlock it.

43 text messages.  
17 missed calls.  
14 voicemails.

He scanned through the messages, they were all just  
“Are you alright?”, “Answer your phone, Alfred, we are all worried about you”, “Are you coming to the funeral?” and “Are you okay, Alfred?”  
He quickly marked them as read, and dropped his phone into his pants pocket with a sigh.  
“They are worried about you, can you at least tell them you’re alright?” Arthur asked, sincerity in his voice, as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
Once more he was promptly ignored. “I should get flowers shouldn’t I?” Alfred asked himself aloud, and with a moment of thinking to himself, he nodded. “Yeah, he would have liked that.” His voice seemed to drop in octaves, and gain years as he uttered those words. Any sadness was sobered up quickly, hidden by a smile, as he patted himself down once more, making sure he had everything. With everything he needed in his pocket, Alfred made his way outside, and into his well-kept Mustang. The cherry red glinted in morning sun, as he didn’t bother to pull the door open. In a Michael Bay ask style, he vaulted over the door, and into the seat of his convertible.  
“I still got it,” he smiled to himself.  
“No you don’t,” Arthur said, a scowl on his face as he silently slid into the passenger’s seat.  
Alfred fished the keys from his pocket, started the car, and sat for a moment as he listened to his baby roar to life.  
In no rush, he pulled out of his driveway, and headed down the street, letting the wind comb its gnarly fingers through his amber hair. Every once in a while, he would sip on his coffee, and rock out to whatever tunes were on the radio.  
Arthur sat in the leather seat next to his, arms crossed in disdain, an unhappy scowl across his face.  
Finally after what felt like forever to Arthur, Alfred pulled into a road side flower shop.  
“I wonder what flowers he would have wanted? “ he questioned to himself, as, this time, he decided on using the door.  
“English roses,” Arthur answered, even though the question wasn’t directed at him.  
“Some weird type of rose or something,” Alfred muttered, as he closed the door.  
After an awkward encounter with the florist, Alfred returned to his car, a bouquet of roses in his hands.  
He tossed them on to Arthur’s lap without a look, and started to speed off to the cemetery.  
A brief smile danced over Arthur’s face as he took a look over the roses.  
“These are nice” he commented to himself, only to have his remarks not heard over the sound of the air rushing through the open cabin.  
Once more, the car carried them to where they needed to be, and only a half an hour late.  
Hastily Alfred picked the flowers up, and pulled himself from the seat.  
He eyes laid upon a group of people huddled around one stone tooth out of a mouth full. Faces he recognized.  
One with a head of golden hair waving down his back, another similar to himself, only with lighter, longer hair, and a softer face.  
There was one with a scarf wrapped around his neck, even though it was almost the middle of summer, among a few other.  
With a clear of his throat, Alfred tightened his tie and briskly made his way over to the people gathered around the headstone.  
It was nothing special, nothing but a slab of wood that marked someone laying 6 feet below, with nothing but a name.  
The sight of it made a lump well in his throat as he drew closer.  
Pain settled in to his chest, as he saw the tear stained faces of those he knew, those he loved, and all huddled around a freshly buried grave, like lost penguins, huddling together for warmth around something that was nothing but cold.  
“Alfred” The man with the elegant long hair said, making his way over to him, concern and grief over his face.  
“ Sorry. I haven-“ he didn’t get to finish his excuse for not picking up before being pulled in tight, welcoming hug.  
“ ‘m glad you're okay mon cheri,” the man said, his French accent wrapping with words tightly, leaving only a little room for relief in his voice. “We were so worried about you. We all know you were close to him”  
He pulled from the hug, deep sapphire eyes looking into sky blue.  
“ I’m fine Francis,” Alfred said, trying to mask any grief he couldn’t keep hidden with a smile.  
“Don’t give me that,” Francis said, his face falling and his eyes sinking into his head, darkening.  
“ I know you're not, don’t you dare hide it in.”  
Alfred sighed, letting his true emotions fall on to his long face. Pain, fear, horror, sadness leaked into his features.  
Once more, Francis wrapped him in a tight hug, comfortingly rubbing his back.  
He stayed there a while, clinging tightly on to his arms, Arthur watching from behind .  
“Take care of him, will you, Francis?” He asked, his voice almost a whisper.  
The hug lasted a while, until they were pulled away by a soft face joining their midst.  
Tears were filling his violet eyes, causing his glasses to become spotted with droplets.  
“ Oh, Mathieu,” Francis said, his voice thick with emotion, as if tears threatened to form in his own eyes.  
He didn’t even have to say a word, the look on Matthew’s face portrayed his thoughts and feelings. He missed him.  
“ Hey… I miss him, too, ol’ Artie,” Alfred said, his voice cracking with emotion he fought to keep down, as he gave a brotherly clap to his back.  
“Can we go…? I don’t want to be here…,” Matthew asked, his voice watery.  
“I think we should,” Francis nodded, as Matthew brought a palm to his face, smearing the tears away from his eyes.  
He turned once more to Alfred. “Please take care, will you? Call me if you need anything.” He put emphasis on the anything, drilling a soft glare into his head.  
Alfred gave a nod, though he didn’t really mean it.  
“ Be safe,” Francis said, before turning away. He wove his way through the white marble stones, Matthew not far behind.  
Alfred gave a curt nod, and turned his attention to the dwindling number of faces. Not many were left, and those who were saying their final goodbyes and on their way out.  
Soon enough it was just Alfred, standing in front of the grave, the flowers clutched tightly in his hands, Arthur standing not far behind  
“ Thought you would like these.” He held them out a bit, in front of the grave stone.  
Gingerly he placed them on the newly filled in dirt.  
“Nice place you got here…. Hope the neighbors aren't too loud,” he said, trying to crack a joke, but ended having his voice crack instead.  
“ Sorry I wasn’t here earlier…I mean I guess I can come up with some excuse, but I didn’t want to see you go….” Hot tears formed in the corners of his eyes

“ W-we left in an argument… y-you were pissed at me again… like always.. but you didn’t get over it… I-I’m sorry.” He let his head hang as the tears worked their way down his cheeks. “Y-you were the closest thing I-I… I had to a father, and… n-now I don’t even have that…. God I’m so sorry Arthur.” He put a hand to his eyes, letting the sobs flow out. “I-I didn’t think this would happen…. Not like this. I-I didn’t… didn’t think my last words to you would be ‘ Y-you’re the w-worst thing that happened to me’ ‘cause you’re not,” he choked about between sob laden breaths. His voice wavered with emotion. His body shook with racking gut wrenching sobs.   
From behind, Arthur stood, silent, his arms folded over his chest, his face falling in to a sad frown, knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease Alfred of his pain. He couldn’t offer a handkerchief, and a well needed hug. He couldn’t do a single thing.

“I didn’t mean it,” Alfred started again “ I-I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean that. N-not at all…. ‘m sorry.” He wept, and the words kept passing over his lips in a sloppy, tear slurred whisper ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he continued

Moments passed before he sobered him self up.

“I don’t want to bother you any more…. I’ll visit often ‘kay?” he said, a fake smile coming over his features, his voice was hollow and canned as he spoke those words. The sky blue of his eyes were tinged with red because of the ill effect of his break down as they caught one last look at the head stone. His eyes traced the carved named once more, engraving it into his mind. He let the name Arthur Kirkland burn in to his head for another second before turning on his heels, and leaving.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Emeraldequinox and Lord of the Weaboos for editing this for me.


End file.
